


Honey Venom

by OnMissingStreets



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear, Fear of Death, Forced Relationship, Kidnapping, Love/Hate, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence, Vulnerability, Woo is a psycho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMissingStreets/pseuds/OnMissingStreets
Summary: Yeosang hated himself for his silly decision. Here he was, stumbling through a dirty hallway, black, dried blood, which had been trickling down his temples until some time ago, made him feel uncomfortably dirty and he stumbled on, hands supporting his embarrassingly weak body. He was so slow. Panicking, he threw his head over his shoulders every two seconds, checking if Wooyoung was already in sight. But the white, stained path was empty. There was only him and the whiteish light of the broken neon tubes over his head. And the darkness, of course, which was awaiting him in the maze of branched, underground hallways.Yeosang is kidnapped by none other than Jung Wooyoung.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Honey Venom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's late and I wrote this for fun:) Yup, I'm into dark themes and brutality, so here ya go!
> 
> Pls leave comments:)

**Honey Venom**

_Blades like feathers in the cutting-bathroom, fried fingers next to blue toes and dished up left-overs_

Yeosang hated himself for his silly decision. Here he was, stumbling through a dirty hallway, black, dried blood, which had been trickling down his temples until some time ago, made him feel uncomfortably dirty and he stumbled on, hands supporting his embarrassingly weak body. He was so slow. Panicking, he threw his head over his shoulders every two seconds, checking if Wooyoung was already in sight. But the white, stained path was empty. There was only him and the whiteish light of the broken neon tubes over his head. And the darkness, of course, which was awaiting him in the maze of branched, underground hallways.

Yeosang felt himself shaking as his whole body tensed and cramped at the sound of a door opening behind him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t even turn around, but when the shrilling bright light was switched on, he pressed his eyes shut. Even though he couldn’t see the man behind him, he knew it was Wooyoung, and to think of his current position, it was utterly disturbing and confusing enough for him to feel overwhelmed by it. He thought about the things Wooyoung would say now, but he didn’t expect the other’s voice to be this close as he did.

“Hi, boy…” Wooyoung whispered, hot and moist breath ghosting over Yeosang’s exposed neck and he shuddered. He wasn’t used to showing his feelings, but he felt too scared to hold anything in. Freely, he let his tears roll over his swollen cheeks, one bruised eye burning of the saltiness. He didn’t know where he was, or what was holding him up even. His whole world was spinning and he felt nauseous.

“You’re not too much of a thinker, huh?” Wooyoung asked then, cold and sweaty palm cupping Yeosang’s face. Yeosang wanted to vomit.

“Don’t kill me…” he begged, but it was barely more than a thin exhaling whimper. Wooyoung, though, frowned. “What?” he asked, voice a little harsher and Yeosang would have flinched if he hadn’t felt that weak and overwhelmed. “Please, don’t kill me!” he cried out, voice finally feeling like it belonged him again. He felt so nauseous. He wanted it to stop, to lay down and have some water maybe, to sleep. To be left alone. “I’m not killing you, darling.” Wooyoung said calmly, making Yeosang blink against the tears in his eyes. Suddenly, Wooyoung pressed Yeosang’s head to his shoulder gently, yet possessively.

“I’m just keeping you save from everybody else.” Lies. Yeosang felt like crying and yelling in desperation. How did he end up this helpless?

“You can be mine now. You can stay forever. I don’t mind.” Wooyoung murmured, pressing their heads together and burying his nose in Yeosang’s silky, black hair, inhaling deeply. Yeosang felt a shiver running over his spine at those words. “No…” he mouthed, his jaw aching horribly.

Wooyoung abruptly shoved himself off him and harshly grabbed him by his shoulders instead. “No?” he repeated, rough voice suddenly sounding aggressive. “What do you mean no?” Yeosang shrunk and wanted to back away. Wooyoung’s nails were digging into the skin of his shoulders and the familiar pain reminded him of how Wooyoung really was.

Wooyoung wasn’t Wooyoung. At least, not the Wooyoung he had known before.

This Wooyoung did not hesitate to hurt and harm him.

“You stay. You stay anyway, you’d stay even when I let you leave.” Wooyoung’s voice was so set that Yeosang felt his whole chest cramping in fear. He had never felt this way. Maybe, he was too spoiled. Wooyoung huffed, grip loosening. He replaced his nails with soft caresses, tenderly striking over Yeosang’s sore skin, until he cupped his face once again. Yeosang wanted to throw up even more.

“I’m not insane, don’t worry. I won’t kill you. But you have to be good and not provoke me, so I can let you live.” Wooyoung continued, a smile pulling on his doll-like lips. Yeosang gulped back a sob. How could Wooyoung look like that in a situation like this? How was he so extra-terrestrially beautiful? This man, who was insane. Yeosang pressed his teeth together tightly, hiccupping once and letting an inaudible sob rock through his body. He felt vulnerable and weak and threatened. And he was about sure that Wooyoung was not keeping him here just to sit there and have some tea with him.

“You know…” Wooyoung whispered, coming uncomfortably close again, eyes directed on Yeosang’s quivering lips. “Ever since the day I saw you I wanted to have you.” Yeosang felt his ankles burning inside his body, his bones were aching so hard it almost drove Yeosang crazy, but he was too concentrated on Wooyoung and to not accidentally puke that he currently forgot about it the second Wooyoung lifted his face a little. “And now I have you. Now you belong to me alone. All to me…” Wooyoung grinned, and Yeosang whimpered. He wanted to slap himself for sounding this pathetic and weak. He wasn’t weak, but now, he felt like he was. Wooyoung let one hand wander around his waist, touch light like a feather, and he slung his arms around Yeosang.

They were close. So close Yeosang felt comforted. He couldn’t understand that man in front of him, couldn’t believe that Wooyoung, of all people, Jung Wooyoung, was like this in real life.

It was a hug, but it felt like a cage. Yeosang felt the unbearable urge to move and shift his body, free his arms maybe. His arms. Finally, he realized that his arms were tied tightly over his head. He hadn’t realized though that the feeling he once had, had been gone long ago. His fingers weren’t even tingling anymore. They felt dead. Yeosang wished he were dead.

But at the same time he was scared of death and wished that Wooyoung would just tell him that everything’s just a lame joke. A scare prank. Yeosang inhaled sharply. It must be a scare prank. He knew Wooyoung. He had known him for years.

“You feel so hot… your body feels like it’s on fire.” Wooyoung murmured next to Yeosang’s ear. Was his body this warm? He felt rather cold. Wooyoung pressed himself further into him, pulling, or better, squeezing Yeosang to his own chest. Surprisingly, the nausea stopped for a short second. “You’re so warm and soft. You’re alive.” Wooyoung mumbled on and Yeosang felt his chest starting to ache of fear. Alive. Yeosang was still alive. Of course, he was. Why would he be dead? Did Wooyoung ever kill someone?

Opposite of what Wooyoung felt, Yeosang found their position highly uncomfortable. Wooyoung’s body wasn’t soft, or anything. It felt hard and cold, tense almost and tough. Wooyoung was a man, he was muscular and there was no fat left on his body to pillow him. He was bones and skin. Was Yeosang bones and no skin then? His skin hurt. However, he couldn’t say whether it was his whole skin as an organ or if it was because he felt sore all over his body. Wooyoung had dragged him here before. Wooyoung had punched him in the face and almost choked him, had slapped him over and over again until Yeosang felt like passing out.

Wooyoung did not hesitate to hurt him.

Wooyoung was not the one joking here. Maybe, Yeosang did a mistake deciding to play with him.

He wasn’t sure whether he had begged enough for Wooyoung to spare him. Wooyoung, however, left him alive. And Yeosang couldn’t deny that he was glad. Not relieved though. He’d feel much more relieved when Wooyoung stopped manhandling him.

The beating from the day before had been a joke. Yeosang knew it had only been a day, but it felt like the agonizing eternity of a whole week had passed. It was boring. Enduring blows and kicks grew boring. Of course, Yeosang still felt scared and intimidated whenever Wooyoung showed up. And he didn’t show up too much. But when he did, Yeosang was predicted to suffer.

Yeosang thought about so many things. He thought about all the bad things and all the things he ever did wrong in his life. There was a lot. But was it enough to make him go through hell? He wasn’t even religious, and yet he started praying some hours ago. Wooyoung seemed to never sleep. He was always awake. He came whenever Yeosang just fell asleep. He didn’t even let him rest. He always entered with a bright smile. A smile Yeosang once had loved and found attractive.

A smile that sent shivers of horror and desperate angst down his whole spine and almost made him go insane because his brain seemed to not be able to process the information that dear, loving Wooyoung that always supported him was indeed in real life someone else. Maybe, Wooyoung’s possessed by a demon.

Yeosang was laying on his side. His good side, the other hurt too much to lay on. His temples were hammering against his brain, his bangs stuck to his feverish hot and sweaty forehead, covering his almond shaped slit-eyes which he once had even considered pretty. He hated his whole existence. He hated being Yeosang.

The sound of the doorknob turning made him almost jump in scare, he jerkily, yet laboriously sat up and felt his whole torso cramping in pain.

He stepped inside with the biggest smile. That smile Yeosang had once loved and adored. That smile that resented. Wooyoung’s smile.

“Yeosangie!” he shouted, his loud and clear voice almost made Yeosang cringe. At least, the nausea stopped after he vomited two times some hours ago. Actually, he didn’t know if it were hours already. Maybe, it had been minutes and Yeosang was slowly losing his mind.

Wooyoung approached him, a hop in his steps. “Let’s try something else as well!” Wooyoung sang, but Yeosang already pressed himself back into the wall behind him. He changed his mind. He felt nauseous again.

Yeosang didn’t remember passing out. However, hearing Wooyoung’s dim voice like he was talking with him through a wall, made him blink and even though he could see, he couldn’t register what was happening around him.

Wooyoung was sitting next to him casually, eyes fixed on the phone he was holding in his lap. Yeosang swallowed thickly. “Can…” he rasped out, his throat feeling like tar. He cleared his throat, coughing a little and getting almost startled as Wooyoung slowly placed his eyes on him without even turning his head. “Can I get some water?” he asked, eyes pleading. Slowly and surprisingly, Wooyoung’s stone hard face turned into a kind of psychopathically bright smile. “Of course, you can!” he shouted and jumped onto his feet, leaving his phone on the ground.  
Next to his knife.

Oh, that knife. Yeosang remembered and laboriously lifted his head to look at his now bandaged ankle. He hated Wooyoung. He was sure he never hated anyone like he hated him. Only then, when he saw Wooyoung being busy letting some water out of the tab on the wall over the sink, he noticed that it was his chance. He could grab the knife and kill him. He could call an ambulance. He could win. He could be free if he…

“There you go.” Wooyoung nearly pushed the cup into Yeosang’s hands. “I’m glad you can still sit.” He announced, before he comfortably sat back onto the floor cross-legged. Yeosang didn’t even notice he sat up some time ago. However, he lifted the glass to his lips and slowly took a gulp. What if it was toxic?

No, Wooyoung wouldn’t kill him like that. Wooyoung would beat him black and blue, skin him alive and cook him. That’s how Wooyoung would end him. Cruel, terrible, painful and merciless. Dying of poisoning almost seemed like… a pleasure.

“What is it?”

Yeosang flinched too hard at that. “Why aren’t you drinking?” Wooyoung asked again and Yeosang almost chocked on his own spit. Quickly, he lifted the glass to his dry lips and drank it up. He was dying to ask Wooyoung so many questions, but he couldn’t formulate them properly. He was too distracted by death itself sitting next to him so comfortably and grinning like a maniac that it was almost impossible to think straight anymore.

“All up?” asked Wooyoung and Yeosang nodded tamely. Wooyoung then smiled softly. The mixture of softness and maliciousness confused Yeosang. “Good boy.” A few minutes ago he was called a brat.  
“Can I have some more?” Yeosang blurted out, not even noticing it was him speaking until Wooyoung rose his brows. He could trick him. He could grab the knife and kill him. Could he kill Wooyoung? Did he want to kill him?

“I think you’ve had enough.” Wooyoung’s expression suddenly was cold and emotionless, so hard to read that Yeosang’s hope died down the second it sparkled up in the darkness of his lost mind. Of course, he couldn’t trick Wooyoung. Wooyoung was too smart. Yeosang was an idiot. “I’ll come by later.” He looked up, feeling his face becoming hot in embarrassment as he realised he was longing for Wooyoung to stay. No, not Wooyoung. He just needed a company down here.

“Will you be okay?” what a dumb thing to ask someone in a wicked situation like this. Yeosang nodded tamely. Wooyoung smiled again. Wooyoung loved him again. “Well then…” he pushed himself onto his feet and grabbed the knife and his phone. “See you.”

“Yeosangie!” Wooyoung chanted, voice dangerously threatening and light. Yeosang panicked, gasping and crying out for help as he dragged his sore body over the floor. However, less than ten seconds later, he heard the footsteps approaching before he even had the chance to turn his head. Then, he felt his sore ankles being gripped harshly from behind and he jerkily was pulled far back into the room again, nails desperately trying to get a proper grip in the ground, but failing and breaking. “Yeosangie, you’re such a funny, bad boy.” Wooyoung chuckled as he crouched down and kneeled onto the floor, hands already on Yeosang’s shoulders again.

Yeosang knew it. Wooyoung would kill him. Yeosang was sure about that now. And as Wooyoung laboriously turned him onto his back and dragged his own body on top of Yeosang’s, he felt it again. The feeling of wanting to live. He wanted it so badly. He wanted to live. He wanted to see his friends and family, to reach his goals, to have his favourite food one last time. He wasn’t ready to die now.

“Yeosang?” Wooyoung asked and Yeosang blinked. “Yeosangie, are you ignoring your younger brother?” Wooyoung asked, a worried expression on his face. Had Wooyoung been talking to him just now? “Uh…” Yeosang mumbled, swallowing the lump in his throat. “How naughty. Are you being a little brat, Yeosangie?” he hated his nickname. “You were such a tease before, now look at you.” Wooyoung leaned backward, sitting on Yeosang’s hips now and looking down onto him with the most satisfied expression Yeosang had ever seen on a human’s face. No. Wooyoung was not a human. Wooyoung was a monster.

He turned his head aside slightly, moaning in pain as his head started hammering. His chest was rising and sinking unnaturally heavily, breaths coming jerkily. He felt Wooyoung’s hands on his body. They felt like fire. He didn’t want them. He wanted Wooyoung off.

“Oh, Yeosangie…” Wooyoung exhaled. Yeosang knew it would come. “You look so pretty right now.” Wooyoung grinned, leaning over him once more. Yeosang wanted to throw up again. The praise didn’t sound good, it sounded so horrible that he felt his view clouding in front of his eyes. He felt dizzy of fear. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t into men at all, but Wooyoung made him feel like a ragdoll. Like a whore. And he was well aware of how whores get treated.

“Can I just have you all to myself?” Wooyoung asked, voice temptingly seducing. Yeosang hated it. Yeosang hated the way he blushed and felt his body reacting, but he just couldn’t hold back the feeling of joy when finally he felt treated differently. He was treated with love. And he couldn’t deny how much he loved being praised. Being loved. Even though he wanted to leave.  
Outside, he wouldn’t get any love anyway.

Yeosang felt Wooyoung’s hands tenderly trailing down his chest and pressed his eyes shut. No, maybe, outside he wouldn’t be loved, but he would be free. Who knew when Wooyoung had his next mood swing? He was longing for feeling save again. Not fearing the only human near him. No, not human. Wooyoung was still a monster.

Not a human.

“You’re so beautiful.”

A monster.

“Your face resembles a doll’s face…”

Human.

“Yeosangie, if only you knew how strikingly beautiful you are.”

Yeosang only hated himself even more. He hated how he reacted. He wanted to hate Wooyoung. He wanted to tackle him and beat him to death, choke him, burn him, destroy him. He wanted to end Wooyoung in the most painful ways possible.

But here he was, enjoying the warmth and the affection way too much. He was so weak for praises and fondness, it was almost embarrassing.

“I love you.” Wooyoung gently caressed the back of his hand over Yeosang’s cheek and Yeosang couldn’t help the shaky gasp of relieve. Wooyoung swiftly got off him, sitting cross-legged next to him. Yeosang wanted to move, but felt petrified and exhausted. So, instead he laid there, helpless and glad to not have gotten raped or killed just now. “Yeosang?” Wooyoung’s voice was soft now.

“Yeosangie?”

Yeosang closed his eyes and held his breath again. Would he punch him again? Would Wooyoung hurt him again?

“Yeosang!”

He ripped his eyes open once again, gulping heavily and looking at Wooyoung, their gazes meeting and locking. Wooyoung looked slim now, smaller and kind of… like he was before. Kind. Mysterious and warm-hearted. If only Yeosang didn’t know how he really was. “What?” asked Yeosang, not sure whether he really wanted to know what Wooyoung was thinking about. When the hell did he change again? When did he become so… soft and small? Wooyoung really was a wonder himself.

“Do… Do you detest me?” Wooyoung asked, voice suddenly thin and Yeosang blinked in confusion. Laboriously, he dragged his body up in a sitting position and groaned as his bruised hip rolled over the ground. He tried sitting like Wooyoung, but his ankle forbid him to do so, and instead, he sat there like an old man. Wooyoung was quiet and didn’t take his eyes off Yeosang for a second as the older one let his eyes wander to the ground again.

What was he even thinking?

He resented and hated Wooyoung from the bottom of his heart.

Did he?

Did he not?

“Yeosangie?”

Yeosang wanted him to shut up and give him some more time to think. Should he be honest? Would that save his life? Would Wooyoung kill him if he answered “yes”?

“Yeosang, do you detest me?”

Yeosang sighed inaudibly, shoulders slumping. Suddenly, he chuckled, without looking up. It wasn’t exactly funny.

“No, I don’t detest you.”

What was he even saying?

He would die anyway, why bother lying? Was he lying?

Wooyoung’s tender smile of joy and bliss surprised him, and as the older one shifted closer carefully until their shoulders touched and he could sling both of his muscular arms around Yeosang’s torso, Yeosang wasn’t sure about his answer anymore.

“I love you.”

Yeosang pressed his eyes close even though he had already shut them. He heard Wooyoung crouching down behind him, knees lightly colliding with the floor. “Are you dead?”  
Yeosang couldn’t help the grunt. What kind of thing to ask was that? Feeling caught, Yeosang finally blinked against the much too bright light above him, eyes on Wooyoung, who was kneeling beside him. He hated the way Wooyoung always looked so excited and overly glad to see him. He hated even more how Wooyoung got mad at him for not smiling.  
“Why aren’t you smiling?”

Ah, there they go again. Yeosang forced a weak grin, looking more creepy than happy, but he didn’t care anymore. He did what Wooyoung said, obeyed him tamely because it was the easier way to stay save and alive. However, he didn’t hold back to show Wooyoung clearly that he was here against his will and that he did not like him at all. It might be the easier way, it wasn’t the easiest though. The easiest would be to fully give up and give Wooyoung what he wanted, love. To be fair, Yeosang did find Wooyoung a beautiful man, but he couldn’t bring himself to forgive him.

He didn’t miss on Wooyoung’s attempts either. He called them attempts because they were mere failed tries to manipulate him. Yeosang was smart. Yeosang recognized those tries. However, it was even more frustrating to feel how he slowly became insane and dependent and those attempts slowly but surely became dull. Gloomy and Hollow. Two words which fit his situation and state just so perfectly.

Gloomy. Hollow. Yeosang loved the word hollow. So much he had started carving it into the stone floor with his fingernails. It’s not that it was a use of anything, Wooyoung probably wouldn’t see it, but he did.

Yeosang knew it. Yeosang finally went insane, so painfully slow that even he himself noticed.

“I love you.” Wooyoung always said. Yeosang never replied.

Wooyoung was smiling that day. Or was it night? Yeosang’s didn’t dare blinking, nervously eyeing the blade in Wooyoung’s bony hands. He knew it.

Wooyoung would finally kill him.

“I want to play.” Wooyoung announced, stepping closer without stopping and Yeosang felt his heart starting to race, beating faster with every of Woo’s continuously approaching steps. He hated him. He detested him so much. “Will you play with me?” Wooyoung looked like a puppy. Yeosang hated him. He felt his chest cramping in fear of that knife in his hands. He hated knives, he hated pain and blood.  
“Will you?” Wooyoung repeated. Yeosang was shaking as he stood up, feeling his knees wobbling and his stomach grumbling. “I…” it’s not that he had a choice. “I will play with you.” Yeosang bit his tongue. He hated himself for being weak-willed and unable to cope with the overwhelmingness of Wooyoung, a single human being, standing in front of him with a knife.

“I will.” Yeosang nodded, slinging his arms protectively around his torso and forced a smile. Maybe, if he didn’t upset Wooyoung, he would let him live.

Yes of course.

Wooyoung grinned. “I knew you would. You never say no.” He came closer. So close he was barely a centimetre away from Yeosang, gently leaning into the older one. Yeosang, on the other hand, held his breath in discomfort, panic spreading inside his head and he had trouble staying calm. Wooyoung was so close. Again. And Yeosang couldn’t breathe like that.

“You love me too, right?”

Yeosang wanted to reply quickly, but was tongue-tied and instead nodded shortly, leaning his head onto Wooyoung’s broad shoulder. He was breathing again, so fast he had to tell himself to breathe quietly, so Wooyoung wouldn’t notice how close to losing it he actually was.

“Of course you do.” Wooyoung slung one arm around Yeosang’s waist, making him feeling unnaturally weak and vulnerable because he still somehow found a strange kind of comfort in this. In Wooyoung touching him and telling him that he loved him. He felt good. It felt good being loved. Maybe, Wooyoung wouldn’t kill him.

But there’s still the fear. And there’s still a knife in Wooyoung’s other hand that wandered around his neck slowly. Yeosang didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want to be killed by Wooyoung.

Not like this.

He hated knifes, he hated blood.

He hated Wooyoung.

Yeosang did what he had to do, right? He was starving, yet he was still strong. His will to live was strong. Stronger than Wooyoung. Or maybe, he just took him aback as he grabbed the knife in his hands and dashed forward, not caring where he hit Wooyoung. Where he stabbed him.

He only remembered running, or better, stumbling quickly towards the door.

This was his end. Wooyoung had locked the door, it wouldn’t open. Wooyoung would get back at him and stab him to death. Wooyoung would get up and kill him.

But the door wasn’t locked. Was it really this easy?

Yeosang hated himself for his silly decision. Here he was, stumbling through a dirty hallway, black, dried blood, which had been trickling down his temples until some time ago, made him feel uncomfortably dirty and he stumbled on, hands supporting his embarrassingly weak body. He was so slow. Panicking, he threw his head over his shoulders every two seconds, checking if Wooyoung was already in sight. But the white, stained path was empty. There was only him and the whiteish light of the broken neon tubes over his head. And the darkness, of course, which was awaiting him in the maze of branched, underground hallways.

He was so far away from freedom. It must be a maze down here. There must be hundreds of ways and paths and corners. He’d get lost. Yeosang would get lost and die anyway. He either got caught by Wooyoung and strangled, or stabbed, or beaten to death, or he’d die in the lonesome empty, dirty hallway. All alone. And nobody would miss him.

The hallway won’t end. It would never end. Yeosang would die, he knew it.

Until he didn’t.

It kind of hurt when he crashed into a wall, his head colliding with it ungently and the unwholesome thud of his body stumbling into a barrier made it even worse. A dead end?

It was as if the world itself was against him. It wasn’t just the people, it was the planet itself who wanted him dead.

That was until he realized the planet gave him a chance. That was until he noticed the door. It must be locked. Wooyoung must have locked it. This was way too easy, Wooyoung wouldn’t be this dumb.  
He still could go back.

Yeosang swallowed dryly. If he went back now, Wooyoung might spare him. Maybe, Wooyoung would even forgive him and not kill him. He could trick him. Yeosang could make him believe that he returned out of love. Would Wooyoung believe him?

Did Yeosang want to go back? Did he even need to go back?

Hesitating, unsurely, he let his gaze wander from the doorknob onto the ground, over the still empty hallway and back to the door. He hated the feeling of hope. Especially when it turned out to not help him.

Did he have a choice? Yeosang wanted to slap himself.

He could just try it out, right?

Carefully, he reached out and felt the cool metal knob in his hands, slightly turning it and feeling the door moving.

It was open.

He could leave.

Did he want to leave?

Could he leave?

Unconsciously, he stopped in the doorframe, turning on his heels. What about Wooyoung? Was Wooyoung heartbroken now? What if he’s not knocked out but dead? What if Yeosang was the bad guy here? What if Yeosang killed him?

He shuddered at that thought. He didn’t want to be a killer. Carefully, he stepped out of the doorframe onto the cemented street and let the door fall shut. Was it really that easy? He threw his head over his shoulder, certain he looked more dead than alive now.

Face getting hot and cheeks blushing, Yeosang realized just how many people were there. They were all staring at him. No, they weren’t. Nobody even noticed his mere presence. But it felt like everybody knew who he was and what he just did.

Yeosang was sure he reeked of sweat and man, his cloths smelled horrible and his whole body looked like it was wrecked.

Of course it was. He had just killed his…

What was Wooyoung to him? Was Wooyoung his tormentor? His kidnapper? His stalker? His friend?

Didn’t Wooyoung just want the best for him? Didn’t Wooyoung love him? Who loved him outside?

Yeosang inhaled shakily, realizing only now that he had been holding his breath. He didn’t know who loved him outside, but being here suddenly was strange. He felt strange. Like an alien. Like he didn’t belong here, like he belonged back into his cell together with Wooyoung. Oh god, Wooyoung was dead. He had killed Wooyoung. Maybe.

Yeosang blinked against the sunlight, the deafening voices of everyone talking made him dizzy and he realized as well how close to freedom he was. He could have just yelled for help and people probably would have heard him. He could have. Did he?

He couldn’t remember. Where even was he?

Where should he go now?

What about his friends? Did he have friends?

So many questions and Yeosang knew he knew the answers to all of them, but he just couldn’t think straight anymore. Was he waiting? Maybe, he was waiting for Wooyoung to follow him and drag him back, or give him answers. He needed answers. He couldn’t think himself. He needed Wooyoung to be there for him. Wooyoung was always there and now Yeosang killed him. He killed him. Yeosang was a  
“Hey, do you need help?”

Yeosang jumped and felt his breath hitching at the sudden voice. Wide eyes ripped open, he slung his lean arms around his torso and stared at the man.

He was taller than Wooyoung, had mid-long black hair, a weak smile and kind of fierce-looking eyes that made him look like a cat. And such broad shoulders.

“You look pretty lost and your face is a bit… uhm… messed up.” He commented shyly and Yeosang swallowed once more. This man didn’t love him, why should he trust him? Nevertheless, Yeosang got a grip on himself. He couldn’t let Wooyoung win. He knew he was reacting like Wooyoung wanted him to. He wasn’t Wooyoung’s puppet anymore.

“I don’t know where I am.” He admitted, acting more lost than he was and the man with the sad eyes actually looked startled. “Oh… I thought so. Can I get you a taxi?” it wasn’t a bad idea. Yeosang carefully nodded and let his gaze sink.

He still feared that Wooyoung would burst out of the door any second and stab him in the back.

Secretly, Yeosang knew that he’d always fear that moment. The moment Wooyoung came back at him.

“I’m San, by the way. Choi San. What’s your name, boy?”

Boy?

Yeosang looked up, hesitating. However, looking at the stranger, he suddenly felt kind of awkwardly save.  
“Kang Yeosang.” He mumbled, following San down the busy street.

This was the end. This is how he’d end.

He’d just go home and forget everything.

Forget Wooyoung, forget about his kind of love.

He’d just go home.

And that’s what he did. He never told the police, or his friends, or his family.  
He left Wooyoung to die in that little stuffy cell. He just went home.

“Hi, Woo!” San smiled as he sat down next to his friend. Wooyoung looked up shortly, forcing a smile. “How’s the shoulder?” San asked, taking the already ordered cup of black coffee and putting it to his lips and crossing his legs. “Better. I mean, it’s healed.” Wooyoung replied, blinking and avoiding eye-contact. San frowned. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He assured, placing the cup down into the table and coming a little closer. “You do trust me, Woo, right?”

Wooyoung huffed. Then, he finally smiled and looked at San. “I trust you.” He inhaled sharply and uncrossed his arms. “You said you wanted to meet me because of something important. What is it?” Wooyoung asked whisperingly and San chuckled. Carefully, he leaned in and whispered to Wooyoung’s ear. Wooyoung’s eyes widened.


End file.
